


Written from the Heart

by martinisandart



Category: Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears (2020), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, F/M, crypt of tears related!, jack having feelings and emotions, managing to make myself cry, that damned eulogy again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24705898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martinisandart/pseuds/martinisandart
Summary: Having learned of the death of his dear lady detective from the newspaper, Jack Robinson takes an evening at home to try and find the words to share how he feels.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	Written from the Heart

_ The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.  _

Jack Robinson put down his pen, and let out a long sigh, before pushing his hair back off of his forehead and closing his eyes. Of all the days he didn’t want to be part of his carefully written history- this was one of them. He had never dreamed; in fact, dreamed wasn’t the right word; had never even thought that he would ever have to go through this again. 

The motorcar incident had been bad enough, for thinking Phryne to be dead simply around the corner from one’s home was one thing (though still not a very good one)- but reading that she the woman he... loved... had died a horrible death in a foreign country was something that shattered his heart into a thousand pieces. He glanced at the newspaper clipping that lay on his desk, and reached for it once more- just to look at her face. 

It was an unfair re-enactment of previous events: he just wanted to look at her; wanted to take in that carefree gaze one last time before he was truly hit by the meaning of what the paper that Collins had shoved in his hands earlier that evening truly meant: what the words actually told him: that the famed female aviatrix of Australia had died in British ruled Palestine, on her own, too far away from him to even think about him being of aid. 

Jack felt a groan escape from his lips, and scrunched his eyes shut, massaging his temples with his fingertips before pushing up from his writing desk and pacing the room.

“DAMN IT, PHRYNE!” he roared, pacing back and forth, his emotions taking him over by the second, and then breaking out loudly, in an almost out of character outburst. After taking in a deep breath of air in an attempt to calm himself, Jack felt some semblance of ‘having it together’ come back to him, and his face crumbled. Again, but quieter this time, he murmured;

“Damn it, Phryne.” 

His gaze cast across the room to where a clipping of Phryne in his arms gazed back at him, one finger to his lips and almost laughing at him, from the frame on the mantlepiece. 

“Why did this have to happen to me?” 

The question echoed around the empty room, and Jack walked back over to his writing desk slowly, as if his feet were stuck in a puddle of molasses. Reaching to draw the curtains and block out the setting sun, Jack crumpled up the piece of paper that sat in the middle of his desk and threw it into the wastepaper basket by the fire, before drawing a new sheet from his notebook, and placing it square in the centre of the wood. After a moment of thought, he reached to pour a drink for himself from the drinks cart, but ended up placing the tumbler of whiskey down as soon as he had poured it from the decanter.

So much as it may have only been a glass of whiskey, Jack couldn’t do this to himself- he couldn’t do this to her. An hour after he had returned home, he had received a call from a sobbing Prudence Stanley, who was absolutely beside herself at the news of her niece’s death. For Jack, it was almost too much, yet he took Mrs Stanley’s words as they came, as calmly as he could: that was, until she asked him to write a eulogy. 

“Phryne would have wanted you to.”

That’s what she had said. Apparently, Phryne would have wanted his words- his feelings- and Jack knew he could never live up to his expectations of her words from him if he drunk himself into a stupor and simply cried over the paper for the better part of two hours. She would have wanted something from the heart; something deep from within his buttoned-up soul. She would have teased him, if she were still here; asked for his words, not Shakespeare’s; for him to say something sweet, honest- truly meaningful.

Jack sat down in his desk chair once more, and let out a slow puff of air. 

Contrary to popular belief, Jack Robinson had never considered himself as someone who was good with meaningful words. He had always been the one to come up with quick quips in answer to another’s jibes at himself, or was a wonder in offering a calming physical touch; but true words? Unfortunately, they were not his thing- unless, it seemed, Phryne asked for them. 

Picking up the pen once more, Jack laughed to himself. Of course, this was the same pen that Phryne had popped back into his pocket after one of her hopeless debutantes tried to take it for her own; and strangely, Jack felt at peace with the memory- the memory of a past case gone well triumphing over the memory of the sadness of someone from that story missing from his current story. Jack bit his lip. When one thought about it like that, perhaps there was a lot he could say in the eulogy after all. It may not seem meaningful to all those who would likely attend her memorial in London (the toffs that he was sure he had never been mentioned to by name): but to him, they would be meaningful, and he would be remembering Phryne just as he was sure she wanted to be remembered. 

Jack put his pen to paper.

_ The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. _

He paused for a moment to chew the end of his pen thoughtfully, before standing, picking up the nightcap he had poured himself, and placing it on the desk, muttering “just in case”, before putting his pen to paper once more.

_ What can one say? The first time I met Phryne Fisher was during a case concerning a cocaine smuggling ring and illegal abortionists. Thankfully, she was neither- though she still managed to get in the way. The second time I met Phryne Fisher was on a train to Ballarat, where of course, she had stumbled upon a murder, and was intent on solving it herself. Fortunately, for the Victorian Police Force, she didn’t- but she damn well tried to. The third time I met Phryne Fisher, she lit up my life- perhaps in a way that no one has before. Phryne Fisher is a shooting star personified; she seems to take to making wishes come true like a duck takes to water- and she always knew just what to do, and what to say when.  _

_ I’ve met Phryne Fisher multiple times, over the last couple of years, and every time, she has opened my eyes, and turned what I knew about the world- and myself- on its head. Phryne Fisher was beauty; but she was also brightness, class, elegance: and vulnerable. _

_ I stand here today, vulnerable- like Phryne was when she found her sister, like you all are today while we talk of all the daring feats that Phryne had accomplished during her lifetime, whether in Melbourne, England, or during her time as a Lady Detective. There are not many things I regret in my life, but I regret not letting Phryne Fisher into my heart sooner, for once I did, she made me a better man, and helped make the world a better place.  _

_ Phryne, wherever you are now, I hope you’re safe- but I also hope you’re causing havoc, as you always have done. I miss you dearly, and-  _

Jack let out a huff, and chewed the end of his pen a little more. The words came easily enough, but a closure? He knew that speaking endlessly, and spilling his feelings was not the appropriate- nor was it the professional- thing to do; and he sighed, before it hit him.

_ Phryne told me once, that nothing that matters is easy- and Phryne mattered dearly to me- to us- to everyone here today. This isn’t easy for me to stand here and talk of how I miss her, but I have to get through it. When we discovered Janey’s body; I told Phryne to keep living life to the hilt, and I must tell myself the same thing now- to keep living to the hilt, for Phryne: because Lord knows she never let a death stop her. To Phryne.  _

Jack placed down his pen, and reaching for his whiskey, stood, and wandered to his mantelpiece, before raising a silent toast to the clipping of himself and Miss Fisher.

“To Phryne.” he said, his voice no more than a whisper as he let the whiskey burn his throat, and a tear fell from his eye.

“How I miss you, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone magical on the FB group managed to make out that part of Jack’s eulogy were the words “The first time I met Phryne-” and me being me, had to do something with that <3


End file.
